


What Lurks In The Dark

by MsDay



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 06:17:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsDay/pseuds/MsDay
Summary: Peter convinces Stiles to butt out of his post-coma murder spree.





	What Lurks In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a season one rewrite, but I'm not really feeling it. Have a oneshot instead.

She beckons to him with her long fingers, the sweat on her wrist shining in the sunlight. He reaches out to her, but before his fingers reach hers, she turns. And runs. The smile on his face is almost painful with how large it is. He runs after her.

He runs with all his might, but the molasses trapping his feet slows his progress. It doesn’t matter; he’ll run until he catches her. 

Though, how he’s going to eat a fudgesicle bigger than he is, he doesn’t know yet. He’ll figure it out.

She giggles as she runs, the soft clicking of her stick as it taps against the ground, the only thing he can hear. He’s so close that he can smell her, almost taste her. He reaches out again, but she moves just in time, calling him on as she stays just out of reach. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a spring board. Perfect. He runs for it, jumps off of it. She stops running and turns as he jumps, arms out in invitation. He’s almost there. But. There’s pressure on his chest and on his neck. He’s being pulled back. He starts to panic, then.

He wakes with a start, thrashing and trying to call out. Tries to grab the edge of his desk, but the chair is pulled back, made easier by the wheels. “Shhhh, sh sh sh sh.” The voice is deep, maybe? it’s hard to tell with just the shushing, but he thinks it is. He thrashes harder, tries to fight the hold on his chest. The hand on his neck shifts until he can feel fingers on either side of his voice box. The hand squeezes and the words that he didn’t realize were spewing from his mouth are cut off. Along with all the air in the room. 

He struggles harder, claws at the hand on his neck. “Stop struggling and I’ll let you go.” He struggles harder. The hand on his chest moves to collect his wrists, squeezing them to the point of pain. “If you pass out, I’ll take you to my Evil Lair and have my henchmen tie you to a steel table.” 

That shorts circuits his brain for a second. Even through the panic and burning in his chest from the lack of oxygen, he stops and the hand pinching his throat lets go, allowing him to breathe, and encircles his neck. The threat is still there, still clear, but at least he can breathe again. 

“Who are you?” His voice is raspy, it doesn’t sound like him. He wants to clear his throat but even breathing hurts. 

“You don’t know me? I’m hurt.” He brings his hand up, the one holding Stiles wrists and there are claws there. His wrist are scratched, not enough to bleed, but he can feel the sting, now that he knows they’re there. 

He takes in a sharp breath. “You’re the Alpha,” his voice doesn’t waver, thank you very much, it’s just doing weird things because of the attempted murder from a few seconds ago. That’s all. 

“And you’re the sidekick.” 

The... “I’m nobody’s sidekick, I’m-” his voice is cut off with a whine when the Alpha pinches his throat again. He tenses everywhere, going rigid. 

“This doesn’t have to be painful. In fact, I’d prefer if it weren’t.” He moves his hand back to full circle and continues, “now, are you going to listen to what I have to say or do I have to get my henchmen involved?” His voice is infuriatingly calm. 

“My dad-”

“Is at work. He can’t save you from his office.” The hand around his neck tightens, but not painfully.

He’s not really in a position to fight back, if he can keep this guy talking, he can call Scott. Maybe even Derek. Though, Scott probably won’t answer his phone and Derek will probably just growl and hang up. Not a lot of options. “I’m listening.” 

“Are you listening quietly?” Stiles rolls his eyes but nods. “Yes what?” Wow. This guy might give Jackson a run for his money in the douche department. 

“Yes, Alpha?” he grits out. His wrists are dropped and his neck is released. The Alpha steps back and runs a hand down the back of Stiles head as he goes. Stiles turns the chair slowly so he can take a second to search his desk for his phone. It isn’t there.

The Alpha is sitting on his bed, holding up his phone. Well, so much for that plan. He smirks when Stiles shoulders sag and tosses the phone onto the nightstand. “I find myself in need of assistance.” Stiles snorts and the pain in his throat flares. “Have you figured it out, yet; who I’m killing and why?” 

Stiles goes cold. He shakes his head. “My name is Peter Hale.” Derek’s... something? “Derek’s uncle.” He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, “the Argents and their lackeys killed my family, so I’m killing them.” His fingers start itching with the need to get to his computer and verify. “You,” he points at Stiles, “and your idiot have been getting in my way. You’re going to stop.” 

“You put us in this position when you bit Scott.” He snaps.

The Alpha’s- Peter’s eyes flash red and he stands, stalks over to Stiles and grabs his face, over his mouth. This is it, this is how he dies. He doesn’t try to move or speak. Can barely breathe. “If you hadn’t interfered, I would have a loyal beta and my murdered family would have justice.” He brings his face close to Stiles', Stiles' eyes going wide as he sees the scar covering half of the face in front of him, and continues lowly, “you’re going to make it up to me. Aren’t you.” 

Stiles nods his head. Peter lowers his hand to Stiles jaw, grip still firm, and raises his other hand to tuck behind his ear. “Yes, Alpha.” He hates himself for it, hates Peter for it, but there’s a very real possibility that this night could end Stilesless, so he says it. 

Peter stands up, letting go of Stiles’ jaw as he goes. “Now,” he turns back to the bed and sits down, “there’s something else you can do for me.” The way he spreads his knees is deliberate enough that it can’t be mistaken for anything but a demand. “Unless you want me to ask your father for help.” 

Twice is enough, right? Stiles runs his tongue over his teeth and the inside of his cheeks, looks at himself in the mirror. No, twice isn’t enough. He grabs his toothbrush out of the cup he’d just put it in and covers it in way too much toothpaste. Again. He’s just as thorough as the first time he brushed his teeth. The toothpaste foam is pink when he spits. The Listerine hurts when he swishes it around his mouth and he wonders if he should use bleach instead. 

It’s as good as it can be. He wets a washcloth and runs it over his face a few times. He feels disgusting, like he needs a shower. All the showers. He leaves the bathroom without looking at himself in the mirror. 

Peter is going through Stiles homework when he gets back to his room. “You made a mistake.” He doesn’t look up from the papers in his hand. “This says The War of 1812 ended in February 1814, it was 1815.”

“What? No it doesn’t,” Stiles rushes over and takes the papers out of Peter’s hand, scanning it. Peter points to a date near the middle of the second page. Damn. It does say 1814. He’ll have to print out a new copy before school in the morning. His alarm clock says 5:40, he still has a few hours; it won’t take that long.

Stiles is booting up his computer when Peter speaks, “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.” Stiles slows but doesn’t stop. He jumps when Peter’s hand lands on the back of his neck. “You keep Scott away from me and I’ll stay away from him, Daddy, and Mama McCall.” 

When he nods, he feels Peter’s claws against his skin. “What was that?” 

His voice is whisper when he speaks, “yes, Alpha.” Stiles needs to throw up. 

“I’ll see you soon, Stiles.” His bedroom window opens and a cool breeze blows in. “Grow your hair out, I like to have something to grab onto.” And that’s it, Stiles throws up into his garbage bin. When he looks up, Peter is gone. 

Now he has to come up with a way to keep Scott away from all of this. Shouldn’t be too hard, he has to fight tooth and nail to hold Scott’s attention for more than five minutes at a time, since he met Allison. He’ll just stop. That should solve half the problem. He hugs the bin of vomit to his chest and sobs into it, as quietly as he can.


End file.
